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THE 

UPPER TRAIL 



BY 

JAMES ROBERT GETTYS 



(Emcmnatt: 
JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 

EATON AND MAINS 



75 ; 



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COPYRIGHT, I913, BY 
JENNINGS AND GRAHAM 






WITH A HOPE 
THAT THE GOLDEN SUNSET MAY BE 



Contents 



PAGE 

Living in Two Worlds at Once, . - 9 

Fragrant Roses, 14 

The Selfish Rose, 18 

The Soul's Thirst, 24 

The Madonna, 27 

The Orphan, 31 

Give God a Chance, 35 

The Big Muddy, 39 

The Universal Language, - - - - 43 

Flowers and Funerals, .... 47 

The Baby's Smile, 51 

Father and Child, 55 

Law and Love, 59 

The World God Makes and The World 

Men Make, 62 

Opportunity, - - - . - - - 65 

Heresy and Love, 69 

Character, 71 

Mother, 76 

The Model Young Man, ... 80 

The Ideal Young Woman, - - - - 90 



THERE'S never a rose in all the world 
But makes some green spray sweeter; 
There's never a wind in all the sky 
But makes some bird wing fleeter; 
There's never a star but brings to heaven 

Some silver radiance tender; 
And never a rosy cloud but helps 
To crown the sunset splendor; 
No robin but may thrill some heart 

His dawn-like gladness voicing; 
God gives us all some small sweet way 
To set the world rejoicing. — Selected- 



The Upper Trail 



Living in Two Worlds at Once 

EVERY man should live in two worlds 
at the same time. So many live in 
but one. There is an elevated way for 
every life that will travel it. There is an 
upper trail for all who will walk therein. 
The highlands call. The mountain tops 
give far vision. The lower levels afford no 
lasting joy and no high delights. While 
men walk with their feet upon the earth, 
their higher natures should penetrate the 
sky. They should climb to heights where 
faith spreads her unweighted wings and 
goes unhindered by the baser throngs that 
mingle on the plains below. 

Visiting the city of New York or Chi- 
cago for the first time, you will hkely be 
disturbed by the congested condition on 
certain of the streets. It will be difficult 
to get over the crossings in some places. 
The awful jam of travel and traffic is quite 
9 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

appalling to the uninitiated. You are 
fairly compelled to inch your way along 
through the heavy crowds. Even the 
street-cars — that is, the surface-cars — just 
creep along not faster than an ordinary 
pedestrian can walk, being held at every 
crossing by the passing throngs. But look 
up now and see the elevated lines with 
cars sweeping by at terrific speed, unim- 
peded and unhindered by the clashing 
thousands upon the streets below. Up 
above the jam and turmoil of the mingling 
throngs; up where the atmosphere is un- 
tainted and where the going is good. 

Then why not travel by the elevated? 
That is far better. On the lower levels you 
will be disturbed by ugly doubts, jostled 
by the conflicting elements, and the dust 
of confusion will blind your eyes. They 
who live only in the world material, having 
thought for this life alone, and regarding 
not the future, live not at all, but are dead 
while they live. They have no outlook and 
no uplook. They travel by surface-cars 
and are hindered everywhere, while the 
elevated is just at hand, and calls them to 
climb up a bit that they may find a better 
way of going. They should stretch them- 
10 



LIVING IN TWO WORLDS AT ONCE 

selves into the sky until they fairly touch 
the bending blue above them and make it 
theirs, with all the treasure it holds. The 
inspiration for this life comes from above, 
and the man with hope in his heart can 
meet any foe and can rally from the most 
bitter disappointment. When hope spreads 
her wings, courage will dare the darkest 
night, and will come to the morning un- 
tired and undefeated. But without hope 
courage dies, and the feet are hard to move, 
and the wings are held with heavy weights, 
and darkness rules the light. 

So men should learn to live and travel 
in the upper realm where doubt clouds not 
the sky, and where sorrow but turns the 
eyes toward God. Living in the other 
world while they toil and travel here, they 
extract gold from the unseen and coin it 
into the currency of life for the many uses 
of the present. They draw on the bank of 
the future to meet the sight drafts of the 
present. Thus should men live in the 
other world while they are still here, and 
draw inspiration and help for to-day from 
to-morrow. 

That little mother who was called upon 
so suddenly to lay her babe away had 
11 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

learned the secret. The minister had 
spoken the very best words he could; but 
words seemed to most folks very feeble and 
empty that day. They took the last look 
and laid the little one to rest in the green 
cemetery on the hill and returned to their 
homes with heavy hearts for the grief- 
stricken mother, for they feared she would 
not be able to bear her sorrow without 
breaking, she seemed so frail and delicate. 
One could see her as she returned to that 
home so empty now, and so still, and where 
would be no longer heard the enchanting 
music of the childish voice and pattering 
feet. 

But all fears were groundless and were 
soon swept away. She had meat to eat 
the world knew not of. She had a strength 
and support unknown to wavering souls. 
Her vision penetrated far beyond all doubt- 
dimmed eyes. The feet of sordid souls 
were not accustomed to travel the paths 
her feet had found. Passing by her home 
the following day, you might have heard 
her singing: 

We shall meet beyond the river, 
Where the surges cease to roll. 

12 



LIVING IN TWO WORLDS AT ONCE 

Then her soul takes flight again on the 
wings of the following strain: 

O how sweet it will be 
In that beautiful land, 

So free from all sorrow and pain; 
With songs on our lips, 
And with harps In our hands, 

To meet one another again. 

Now you will know that she was master 
of two worlds. She was traveling along 
the upper way and Heaven was in sight. 
She did not wait for death to take her 
there. She arrived before the messenger 
had time to reach her gate. No wonder 
she could come forth from her sorrow and 
face the world with a courage and forti- 
tude so strong, and yet so quiet and so 
comforting that unbelievers were baffled by 
her spirit, and by the halo that surrounded 
her life. Her support was from above. 
Though she lived on the earth, her higher 
self sojourned in the sky. Her feet had 
found the upper trail that led to peace and 
rest. 



13 



Fragrant Roses 



IT was my fortune, a few years ago, 
to attend the reception of a newly-ap- 
pointed pastor, given by a Church in a 
little city in Southern Nebraska. The 
gentleman who gave the address of wel- 
come held in his hands a beautiful bouquet 
of exquisite red roses, so rich in fragrance 
the atmosphere of the whole house was 
laden with the wealth of perfume. The 
words of welcome were as full of fragrance 
as were the flowers. At the conclusion of 
the welcoming speech the roses were pre- 
sented to the pastor, whose response, 
though couched in most classic phrase, and 
uttered in fine spirit, was at first a distinct 
surprise and shock to me. 

He said, "It seems to me I have been 
sent to the best charge in the Conference." 
Now of course such a complimentary re- 
mark would be permissible, and might have 
passed unnoticed, but for the following: 
"It seems to me," said he, "I have always 
been sent to the best charges." That claim 
was clearly untrue. For I had known the 
14 



FRAGRANT ROSES 

man during his entire ministry, and was 
somewhat familiar with every charge he 
had ever served, and knew positively that 
some of them were the most scraggly 
places the Lord ever had anywhere in the 
world. And yet he stood there before 
those strangers and declared he had always 
been sent to the best. 

Of course, the wonder was why he 
talked so prevaricatingly, and how one 
would go about it to harmonize those ap- 
parently untrue statements with a minis- 
ter's reputation for truth and veracity. 
Truly, I was puzzled, not knowing just how 
to think or what to do. Then I saw the 
roses, and caught a fresh breath of their 
fragrance, and a revelation opened before 
me. Those roses! They are always in the 
sweetest and most fragrant atmosphere. 
Why? Because they take it along with 
them wherever they go, and breathe it 
forth from their inner selves. It is a part 
of their nature. They create the atmos- 
phere in which they live. They sweeten 
it wherever they go. In the miasmic 
swamp they are in fine-flavored air, for 
they bring it with them. In the sick 
room, where fever burns the tossing pa- 
15 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

tient, they are in the most fragrant at- 
mosphere, for they bring with them an 
unending supply in the sweetness of their 
nature. Whether in the humble home of 
peasant, or the luxurious palace of pomp 
and pleasure, it is the same. No matter 
where, the rose breathes from its inner life 
that sweet breath which gives it an at- 
mosphere of its own and makes it independ- 
ent of surroundings and conditions. 

So that minister was always in the finest 
charge. For, no difference where he went, 
he would take it along with him in the 
fragrance of his own inner life and the 
purity of his own character, and breathing 
forth from such a soul the atmosphere thus 
laden, his life was saturated with sweet- 
ness, and the purest and best were always 
his. In the quality, vision, and victory of 
his inner and higher self he was independent 
of conditions. He knew the meaning of 
the prayer of Socrates, and had obtained 
its answer: "Grant me to be beautiful 
within. Teach me that wisdom is a form 
of wealth that abides forever: making life 
orderly without; make me also just within. 
Forbid also that I should ever have any gold 
save that which a good man can possess." 
16 



FRAGRANT ROSES 

This man's gold would not tarnish. 
The fragrance of his life would not die, for» 
like the rose, it came from a never-failing 
source within. ■ Talk about good places! 
It is the man that makes the place, and 
not the place the man. Talk about suc- 
cess! That rose is a success that blossoms 
into beauty and sheds forth its fragrance, 
for, though it die unseen and unadmired, 
it is true to its own nature: it did what 
it was born to do. It lived its life accord- 
ing to the highest laws of its world. The 
man who thus lives may be well reckoned 
a success, even though he never comes to 
fame as the world counts fame. No, my 
friend, you may not run fast, but you can 
run in the right direction, and so running 
your feet will strike the upper trail and 
lead you to the heights. 

The lily's lips are pure and white, 

Without a touch of fire; 
The rose's heart is warm and red and 

Sweetened with desire. 
In earth's broad field of deathless bloom 

The gladdest lives are those 
Whose thoughts are like the lily and whose 
Love is like the rose. 
From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
Soul," by Mudge, p. 264. 
2 17 



The Selfish Rose 

A LARGE cluster of rose bushes grew 
just beside the walk leading up to the 
front porch. They were in full foliage, and 
luxuriant with bud and blossom the day I 
called. Being very fond of roses, I reached 
out to pluck one that looked very choice, 
but before doing so bent over with my 
face buried in the blossoms to drink deeply 
of their fragrance. Imagine my surprise 
on discovering they had no fragrance. I 
was disappointed, and left there where it 
grew the flower I had intended to take 
with me, and from which I had expected 
to extract some sweetness. 

It was a rose of exquisite beauty — 
perfect in form and coloring, and fine to 
look upon; but it held no perfume. It 
was great on appearances, but not much 
for fragrance. It allured only to disap- 
point. It caused you to reach for some- 
thing you could not get. It failed to fulfill 
on the face of its promise. And does it 
set us wondering? Do we question the 
18 



THE SELFISH ROSE 

cause? Why did not this rose give forth 
some perfume? Well, *it may be there 
was a time somewhere in the past when 
it was the most fragrant of all the rose 
family. A time when it was the admiration 
and delight of many people. They would 
come from far and near to drink its sweet- 
ness. It was the most popular of all the 
flowers. In every sick-room its fragrance 
filled the air. It heartened people every- 
where. 

But one day it sat up and said: "Here 
I am furnishing fragrance for everybody. 
They take me everywhere, and come from 
everywhere for my perfume. The rich, the 
poor, the good, the bad, both young and 
old, take from my storehouse of fragrance 
to their fill. Soon I will have no fragrance 
left for myself. This thing must cease. 
Henceforth I will deny all comers, and 
will conserve my wealth until my own 
supply shall be unequaled anywhere. I 
will be the richest rose in all the world!" 

And so it was. The doors were closed. 
The windows were shut. The blinds were 
drawn. People came as before, but went 
away disappointed. Messengers from sick- 
rooms came and clipped the buds and 
19 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

blossoms, but carried away unfragrant 
flowers. Then they ceased coming, and 
the rose busied itself in the work of ac- 
cumulation. It lost all interest in others 
and became self-centered. Then it died. 
It died at the heart. It lost its character, 
its influence — that is, its fragrance — for it 
awoke one day to find that it had none 
left even for itself. In withholding it had 
become impoverished. " For unto him that 
hath made right use of his talents shall be 
given more, and he shall have abundance; 
but from him that hath not made right 
use of his talents shall be taken away even 
that which he had in the beginning." 
People are prone to think that an arbitrary 
law written only in the Holy Book, but it 
is a law as universal and as inexorable as 
the law of gravitation, and it was deeply 
inscribed in all nature as the unchanging 
law of all life before it was ever written in 
the Book or spoken by the Master of men. 
It is the rebuke of nature; yea, the rebuke 
of the Infinite to the selfish and self -cen- 
tered life, against which all lofty souls 
and even nature itself revolt. 

But have you noticed how many people 
20 



THE SELFISH ROSE 

are like that rose? Fine in form, beautiful 
to look upon, and promising in every out- 
ward appearance, yet wholly disappointing 
in what you have a right to expect from 
them. They have no fragrance. That is, 
they give forth no helpful influence. In 
what constitutes real beauty, and richness, 
and strength of character they are lacking. 
They close to every high appeal, and help 
no worthy cause. They wither everything 
they breathe upon, and leave no heritage 
of blessing anywhere. They live on the 
lower levels. 

Have you not seen such folk? Yes, 
you have, and well do you remember it. 
You received a visit one day from such a 
soul, and it was like the blowing of a hot 
blast from the desert. It withered and 
scorched and blistered. It filled the room 
and vitiated God's good air until you were 
almost stifled. You never knew before 
what havoc one life could accomplish. 
When that visitor was gone, you threw 
open windows and doors to let some of 
God's fresh air come in. When you said, 
"Good-day," you did not say, "Come 
again, soon, for your visit has been a bene- 
21 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

diction." No, you did not say that. You 
were glad of the going. The flower was 
without fragrance, and it left no sweet 
influence. 

But you have known those of fragrant 
life. And how refreshing the memory! 
As you recall the joys of those associations 
now your heart beats faster. You remem- 
ber the visit on a certain day when your 
sky was cloudy and the sweetness had left 
the air you breathed. You saw her com- 
ing, and you were all astir, then, for you 
well knew the rich influence that life car- 
ried. You opened the door before she had 
time to knock or ring the bell. You were 
overjoyed. You said, "Why do you stay 
away so long?" though she had been to 
see you only three days before. When she 
came into the room it was like the breezes 
wafted from the other shore, laden with all 
the fragrance from the flower gardens of 
God. When she would go after some 
hours of stay, you detained her. "Don't 
hurry," you cried; "you have been here 
such a few minutes; please stay longer." 
And after she was gone the sky seemed 
brighter, the air was aromatic, the birds 
22 



THE SELFISH ROSE 

sang sweeter music. That visit was like 
the refreshing dew upon the drooping 
flower. The Hngering fragrance was a 
benediction for days. That Hfe was not 
self -centered, but self-giving, and one that 
shed its radiance and left its rich flavor 
everywhere, for it walked the upper trail. 



23 



The Soul's Thirst 

WE are here. Whence we came is not 
so important as whither are we 
bound? Is this all? Is it both the be- 
ginning and the end? Do we stop here, 
or shall we go on? That we are now here 
is no more a certainty than that we shall 
not stay here. What then? 

Does some safe and quiet harbor await 
us at the end of our journey, where we 
can anchor from the storm-tossed voyage 
of life and be welcomed to a blest abode 
amidst the shouts of friends and kindred 
dear, and there forever rest? Or is the 
future dark and hopeless, are the harbors 
closed, are there no lights along the shore, 
will there be no welcome; and are we like 
a ship adrift upon a rock-ribbed sea with- 
out a rudder, without compass, and with- 
out guide, with no harbor to enter, and 
no certain destiny but to be tossed about 
at the mercy of the angry billows, and, 
after struggle and effort and groan and 
wail and cry, to be cast a wreck at last 
24 



THE SOUL'S THIRST 

upon the rugged rocks, and there He 
broken and bleeding, and be forever 
mocked by the eternal wail of the ocean 
waves? Is this our lot? Is this our des- 
tiny? 

What intelligence will say it is? Whose 
heart-hunger does that satisfy? Yours? 
Surely not! Can you have an answer to 
your cry? You have it. Where? In 
your own soul. Your heart-hunger for 
God proves God. Your soul-thirst for 
immortality proves immortality. You find 
an answer in all your soul-longings in the 
fact of those soul-longings themselves. 
Your very nature demands the Divine. 
"As the hart panteth after the water 
brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, 
O God!" There is the thirst. There are 
the brooks. The one implies the other. 
Given the one, the other must be. 

Mr. Ingersoll, though denying, demon- 
strates the wonderful truth of this in that 
marvelous oration at his brother's grave. 
"Life is a narrow vale, between the cold 
and barren peaks of two eternities. We 
strive in vain to look beyond the heights; 
we cry aloud; but the only answer is the 
echo of our wailing cry." His heart was 
25 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

hungry; his soul was crying out: but he 
failed to catch the answer or to rightly 
interpret his own nature, his own appetite 
for God. What wild deer, chased and 
hounded, and hot and weary, and well- 
nigh exhausted, ever hunted for the cool- 
ing, refreshing, life-giving water brooks 
more certainly than the troubled soul of 
Mr. Ingersoll, chased by the hounds of 
disbelief and gnashed by the fangs of 
doubt, tired and hot and thirsty, called for 
the water of life — for the Eternal God. 

Truly the world is not an orphan. Man 
is not fatherless. He can not quench his 
own thirst, nor stifle the inner cry. It is 
there. The fragrance of a flower is not 
artificial. So man's thirst for God is 
natural. The eyes reach toward the hill- 
tops. We long for the higher ranges. We 
want to stand on the highest peak. We 
would fain reach that place beyond which 
there is no going. It is the upper trail 
that leads thereto. 



26 



The Madonna 

Madonnas hallow every home; 
O'er every roof where babies are 
Shines high and pure a guiding star; 
And mother hearts do always hear 
Divinest music ringing clear. 
From "Songs of Motherhood," by Elizabeth 
Johnson Huckel. 

OBERAMMERGAU is a little Bava- 
rian village of a few hundred souls, 
nestling among the picturesque, pine-clad 
and snow - crowned Ammer Mountains. 
The place has been made famous by the 
rendition of the "Passion Play," which is 
there given every ten years. It was to 
that place I journeyed in the summer of 
1910, for the purpose of witnessing the 
wonderful production. 

I was entertained in the home of a 
Mr. Stadler. In the family was a lassie 
of some fourteen summers, Victoria by 
name. She was a bright, modest, sweet- 
faced child, whose part in the play was 
that of an angel in the different tableaux, 
appearing to special advantage in the last 
scene, which was the Ascension. 
27 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

When I first entered the room to which 
I had been assigned I noticed on the wall 
a picture which, at a glance, I took to be 
a likeness of Victoria herself. On taking 
a second look, I said, "Yes, and a very 
good picture of her, too. This must be 
her room." Something about the picture, 
however, held my curiosity and attracted 
me to a more critical inspection. Where- 
upon I saw that it was not Victoria at all, 
but a most beautiful "Madonna." 

And yet I am sure that no woman ever 
had a truer likeness of herself than that 
one was of Victoria. And when the real 
truth of the matter dawned upon me, I 
said, " How much better to be a ' Madonna' 
than to own the picture." It were indeed 
better to be one than to paint one. Vic- 
toria truly was one. I meditated for a 
little time over what at first seemed only 
a peculiar coincidence, but decided that 
it was no coincidence at all, and that it 
held no mysteries. It was as perfectly 
natural as the fragrant lily bursting from 
its bulb. For has not Victoria, as well as 
her parents and ancestors, lived in the 
"Madonna" atmosphere, and were not her 
features fashioned by its gentle pressure? 
28 



THE MADONNA 

The unblemished beauty of her face was 
but the natural bloom of the inner life. 

It is said the highest ambition those 
peasant parents have for their children 
from the day of their birth, and even be- 
fore, is that they may be worthy to some 
time have a part in the "Passion Play." 
And so, living in the atmosphere of the 
Madonna, inheriting through generations 
the spirit of the Madonna, continually 
surrounded by the ideals of the Madonna, 
and with a Madonna ever beaming upon 
her from the walls of her room — the first 
to greet her in the morning, the last to 
look the soft, sweet look at night — is it 
any wonder the Madonna bloomed from 
her soul and shone in her face? Reflecting 
as a mirror the glory of that face, she was 
changed into the same image, from glory 
to glory. 

Pure thoughts are God's paint brushes. 
They put color, and tone, and beauty into 
the face. Purity of thought and beauty of 
soul find their fruitage in the face of 
beauty. The inner transforms the outer. 
The fine lines, the strength of features, 
the perfect coloring, the nobility of ex- 
pression all blending into a face of beauty 
29 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

but tell the artistic skill of the unseen 
hand and the transforming power of high 
and holy thoughts. 

Better, then, be the architect of a good 
life than the builder of stately cathedrals. 
Better the artist who puts upon the living 
face the beauty of a pure life than the one 
who but sketches upon breathless canvas 
the finest product of the painter's art. 
Better the fragrance of a right life than the 
perfume of all the flowers. Victoria lived 
among the hills of God, and she knew the 
way of the upper trail. 



30 



The Orphan 

TT was several summers ago when the 
■■■ incident here set down took place. You 
have doubtless sat in public audiences 
where the speaker upon the platform was 
not the only voice to be heard. When the 
baby voice is as continuous as the one 
speaking by previous announcement, it is 
neither pleasing to the ears nor soothing 
to the nerves, as any one who has passed 
through the experience will testify. On 
the occasion here mentioned, I found my 
way into the large auditorium at the morn- 
ing hour to hear the address of a partic- 
ularly noted speaker. I soon discovered 
that just to my left sat a father and 
mother with a babe perhaps nine or ten 
months old. The speaker of the hour, and 
the babe of that same hour, started the 
program about the same time. The babe 
fretted, and fussed, and whined, and 
squalled. I looked my very fiercest at the 
mother, as if to say, "Why have you 
committed the unpardonable sin of bring- 
31 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

ing the youngster in here?" but she seemed 
not the least perturbed, and showed no 
disposition to remove the disturber of the 
peace. Both parents were kept constantly 
busy trying to quiet the child. I thought 
I never saw a homelier baby, nor one with 
a voice so unmusical and disagreeable. 
Was there no remedy for this pestilence? 
They gave it the bottle, with no satis- 
factory results. They patted it (though 
not as hard as I thought they should), 
they caressed it, they talked and cooed; 
they turned it on its back, and then re- 
versed that order — they did everything 
it seemed that mortals could do — but 
the cry continued. I was frantic. The 
speaker's message was lost to me. The 
morning was wasted. I felt as if the world 
was badly organized and poorly managed. 
Babies were an inexcusable nuisance. And 
parents that did not know how to manage 
them and where to take them were even 
worse. Public assemblies were not cal- 
culated for such trouble-makers. They 
had no business there. 

When the afternoon hour arrived for 
the address of another famous speaker, I 
found myself again in the tabernacle and 
32 



THE ORPHAN 

ready for the message. This time I took 
a seat over on the opposite side from where 
I sat in the morning. And you are now 
thinking that I would not suffer a repeti- 
tion of what I had experienced on the 
previous occasion. Imagine my surprise, 
then, when a moment later I heard just 
behind me a sound which attracted my 
attention, and, on looking around, saw 
there in the next row of seats the same 
parents and the same baby. Was I angry? 
I was not. I was delighted. I was actually 
happy. I really thought that was about 
the sweetest baby I had ever seen. Its 
very whining and whimpering was music 
to me. Its voice was charming. I could not 
keep my curious eyes from its little face 
— it looked so sweet. And the father and 
mother? They were good to see. Their 
faces shone with splendor. The transfigura- 
tion scene presented none fairer than they. 
Why this change, so quickly wrought? 
And where was the change, anyway? Was 
it in the parents and the child, or was it 
in me? Clearly the change was with me. 
In the morning the picture was blurred 
by my ignorance. I did not know the 
facts. Since taking my seat in the after- 
3 33 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

noon, a friend had put me into possession 
of knowledge which cleared the whole sky. 
I learned from him that these were not 
the parents of the child, but that it was 
a little orphan, without father, without 
mother, and without home. These good 
people had undertaken to be a father and 
mother to it, and were doing the best they 
could to comfort it and quiet its crying. 
They were about a noble and God-given 
task. All the little icebergs in my soul 
were melted away, then. The very place 
was radiant with a heavenly light, and 
charmed with the music of invisible choirs. 
That was an experience that has in it the 
wondrous touch of a transforming power. 
And this is what I thought: We would 
better be careful what we think and what 
we say until we know all the facts and 
have the fullest light. From the valley 
we can not always see afar. From the 
hilltops we get a wider and a clearer vision. 
Whittier well says: 

Man judges from a partial view, 
None ever yet his brother knew; 
The eternal eye that sees the whole 
May better read the darkened soul, 
And find to outward sense denied 
The flower upon its inward side. 

34 



Give God a Chance 

WHO painted the rose and colored the 
rainbow? Who gave form and fra- 
grance to the Hly? Can man manufacture 
a flower and furnish it with breath and 
colorings? Some one has done all this 
most perfectly. 

It would seem that all God wants is a 
chance. He never fails. He makes no 
mistakes, God's work is done when we 
do ours. He does not need help — He 
needs a chance. Do we sometimes speak 
of helping Him? How bold the words! 
Who helped Him make the sun and fashion 
the planets? Who helped Him polish the 
stars and set them shining in the heavens? 
Who helped Him make the milky way and 
stretch it across the sky? Who helped 
Him build the majestic mountains and 
gather the seas together? Who helped 
Him lift the planets to their places, give 
to them their seasons, and start them on 
their faultless journeyings through space? 
Who helped Him dig the channels for the 
35 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

rivers? Who helped Him manufacture the 
coal and gather it into the bins? Who 
helped Him carpet the earth with green, 
and clothe it with the beauty of bud and 
blossom? Ah, who helped Him? Did we? 
Yes, we helped, because we were not 
present to bother Him. 

How long would it take a man to dig 
the Panama Canal? How long do you 
suppose it took God to dig the Mississippi? 
How long did it take man to build the 
great pyramids of Egypt? How long did 
it take God to build the Rocky Mountains? 
How long to paint a flower and give it 
fragrance? How long to build a man and 
fashion him as He wants him to be? 

God wants a chance in the world of 
men to-day, and He will bring form out of 
chaos, harmony out of discord, and give 
beauty for ashes. But we are in the way. 
We offer our suggestions and advance our 
puny opinions, instead of following out 
His directions. It must be we bother the 
Lord a lot. We fancy we have ideas, and 
we are eager to give Him the benefit of 
our wisdom. With our notions, and 
schemes, and plans, and prejudices we are 
a great trouble to Him. Obedience would 
36 



GIVE GOD A CHANCE 

be the greatest help man could render the 
Almighty. But folks are so Httle! 

If the will of the Infinite could be 
worked out among men as it is in nature, 
the moral world would be one of symmetry, 
of harmony, of beauty in high colorings, 
and of unbroken joy. Behold how He 
puts the silver lace upon the ocean waves, 
and gilds the brow of the mountain peak 
with golden sunbeams. He studs the sky 
with stars, and garlands the earth with 
flowers. He scallops the fern-leaf, nest- 
ling in the quiet bed of the lonely forest, 
and paints the glory of the water-lily, 
rocked in the crystal cradle of the lake. 
He clothes the fields with beauty, and 
hangs the dewdrops like diamond neck- 
laces upon the grass-blades. Verily, the 
trees do rejoice and the hills clap their 
hands for gladness. 

Give God a chance with man and He 
will clothe him with power, adorn him 
with beauty, give to him a song of cease- 
less joy, and make his life shed radiance as 
the fadeless star. And if man will but 
note and follow the index finger of the 
Infinite he will find the way into that 
upper trail. 

37 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

O thou unpolished shaft, why leave the quiver? 

O thou blunt ax, what forests canst thou hew? 
Untempered sword, canst thou the oppressed de- 
liver? 

Go back to thine own Maker's forge anew. 

Submit thyself to God for preparation, 

Seek not to teach thy Master and thy Lord; 

Call it not zeal — it is a base temptation. 

Satan is pleased when man dictates to God. 

From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
Soul," by Mudge, p. 96, 



38 



The Big Muddy 

T TAVE you ever looked upon the turbid 
■*• *■ waters of the sinuous old Missouri, 
commonly called the "Big Muddy," on 
their long journey from the mountains to 
the sea? Perhaps it was not a sight to 
inspire the soul, or stir the imagination, or 
set the Muses singing. And yet, as I 
crossed that stream the other day, I looked 
upon those murky, muddy waters with 
absorbing interest. They were almost fas- 
cinating in spite of their filth, because they 
awakened within me emotions before un- 
touched — considerations of what they once 
were and of what they might again become. 
As the train dashed on toward the 
West, I lingered in thought with those 
waters. I traveled upward whence they 
came. Up past the tasseling cornfields of 
Iowa and Nebraska. On past the golden 
wheatlields of the Dakotas. On through 
the undulating vistas of Montana. Up, 
up, up until I reached the Rockies, and 
there among the pine-clad ranges, their 
39 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

cradle forever guarded by the age-crowned 
sentinels of those majestic mountains, I 
found their birthplace. Then I saw that 
when those waters were born they were as 
pure as the dewdrop distilled upon the 
rose-bud, and as sweet as the nectar of 
the clover-blossom that banquets the bee. 
Behold the crystal beauty of that river at 
its birth! But now look upon that foul 
stream and see how polluted! And those 
waters will be no more fit for the use of 
men until they are born again — that is, 
until God lifts them up into His sky and 
thus gives them a new birth. Then, when 
they come again, in the form of snowflake 
or dewdrop, to refresh the earth, they will 
be free from all impurities. 

Have you ever thought of the parallel 
in human life? Have you not? Well, 
there is one. There comes to my mind 
now a man of my acquaintance whom I 
have known from his infancy. I saw him 
when the bloom was on his cheeks and the 
laughter in his eyes. When the sweet 
dimples in his face were worth more to 
his mother than all the diamonds that ever 
glistened. When he was as free from stain 
as the crystal waters. But when I saw him 
40 



THE BIG MUDDY 

the other day, after a lapse of some years, 
it was a shocking sight. He was blear-eyed 
and bloated-faced, besotted and bestial. 
He was unclean and repulsive. He bore 
evidence of having received the deposits 
from the waters of many polluted streams. 
So there was the "Big Muddy" in human 
life. Full of every deadly poison; full of 
all filth; brimming with the refuse from 
the reeking streams of immoral habits, this 
man would contaminate all pure lives, and 
was therefore unfit for society. Down- 
ward drifting he had gathered filth as he 
went. 

Like the river, when he was born he 
was sweet and pure. Now look! But the 
One who lifts the black and muddy waters 
of the polluted stream to sweeten them 
and send them back to earth as pure as 
the dewdrop, can give him a new birth, a 
complete cleansing, and save him from 
the stains that have spoiled his life, can 
bring him back to purity and make him a 
happy and useful member of society, that 
he may still give to the world the sweet 
and fragrant influence the Almighty de- 
signed for every man. 

But how much better if the pure waters 
41 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

had never become polluted. Ah, how 
much better if that Hfe had held its in- 
nocence and always kept itself free from 
the stains of sin. It were always better to 
live in the sunlight, to breathe the high- 
land air, to walk the upper trail. There is 
no use to overwork God. 



42 



The Universal Language 

You have heard the rippHng laughter. 
You have seen the falHng tears. 
You have witnessed love's devotion. 

PASSING down the street of a busy 
city one day, I saw coming toward me 
a company of women who, from their 
manner and dress, were evidently for- 
eigners. As they came nearer, I could 
hear their conversation, but could not 
understand a single word they spoke, for 
they were indeed talking in a foreign 
tongue. But as we were about to meet 
and pass, they seemed of a sudden to speak 
and gesticulate at the same time, and then 
all broke out in loud laughter. The laugh- 
ter I clearly understood, and needed no 
one to translate or interpret. They 
laughed in English. 

Laughter is a universal language. It 
is the language of the heart. It is used 
and understood by the people of all 
tongues. 

I was on a railway train passing through 
43 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

a populous section of a great State. At 
one of the little village stations two ladies 
sntered the car and seated themselves just 
across the aisle from where I was sitting. 
As they engaged in conversation with each 
other, it was evident that they also were 
foreigners, for they spoke a language I did 
not understand. Then, presently, as their 
conversation ceased for a time, I noticed 
they were both in tears. That was a 
language I understood. For while they 
talked in some foreign tongue, they wept 
in my own language. No interpreter was 
needed then. Their tears told the whole 
story. Can you not read and understand 
the message? Here it is: Those women 
had been back to their old home to help 
lay father or mother away, and were now 
returning to their own families, and the 
memories of life — of childhood, school days, 
birthdays, Christmas days, happy home 
days, then wedding days, and now the 
funeral days and the broken ties — all 
these were pressing upon them, and those 
two hearts were speaking a language as 
old as the race and as universal as man- 
kind. That is the story those tears were 
telling. When heart speaks to heart, there 
44 



THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE 

are no differences of nationality, race, or 
color, and the message is always under- 
stood. 

So tears are a universal language. They 
are a part of the heart-language. Wherever 
man is found, that language is current, and 
is used and understood by men of every 
tongue. 

The story is told of two men, John 
Waterhouse and David Cargill, who had 
landed upon an island in Fiji. They knew 
well the character of the people there, but 
the people did not know their character. 
The natives who met them were naked, 
scowling, and armed with clubs — by all 
appearances, ready to slay and devour. 
The two white men walked right up to 
them, and, with smiles, and hands out- 
stretched in friendly greeting, said first to 
one and then to another, "My love to 
you," their actions, of course, being suited 
to their words. In a very little time the 
clubs were all down, and the two men 
began to talk. Then there was opportunity 
for them to stay, and then to preach. All 
danger was passed. They had spoken the 
language of love, and the people under- 
stood. 

45 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

Love is a universal language. Love, 
too, is the language of the heart. God 
speaks that language. It is understood by 
all people. Love needs no interpreter. 

Some things are great because they are 
so simple. Love has been called the great- 
est thing in the world. Yet how simple! 
Some things are called great because they 
seem to be profound; but love is the 
greatest thing in the world because God is 
the greatest in the world, and "God is 
love." Thus do we learn divine things 
from the human, the great things from the 
simple and the child-like. We know God 
by the language He speaks, for it is the 
language of the heart; and when the heart 
speaks we understand, for it uses that 
same heart-language of the Infinite. 



46 



Flowers and Funerals 

I NEVER have any flowers for funerals," 
said a lady to a friend who was visiting 
her one day. Of course that visitor was 
fairly shocked at the statement, especially 
as the utterance came from one who had 
so many flowers and who was so well 
known for her kindly disposition. But the 
lady had a few more remarks to make on 
the subject, and continued by saying, "I 
give them all away before the people die." 
Then she added these pertinent words, "It 
makes me feel better to give them to my 
neighbors while they are still living and 
can enjoy them, rather than wait until they 
are gone and then put them on the coffin." 
And who will not agree that this phi- 
lanthropist in flowers was right? If some 
people could only get more flowers and 
fewer thorns while they live, they might 
stay with us longer than they do. A few 
fresh, fragrant flowers in life were better 
than a profusion of withering petals upon 
a cold grave. Alas, that so many should 
get the thorns while they live and the 
47 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

roses when they die! The best time to 
help people is while they are still alive. 
Gifts to the grave were never very potent 
for good, nor much comfort to the occupant 
thereof. The flowers, with their beauty 
and their fragrance, were intended as a 
blessing for eyes that can behold the beau- 
tiful, and lives that can revel in sweet- 
scented air drink in that perfume. 

So many poor souls there are trudging 
along, battling the best they can, with but 
little to cheer or encourage them. The 
beauty of a kindly word would delight 
them. The fragrance of a friendly act 
would refresh them. The strengthening 
touch of a brother's hand would give new 
hope. A flower now and then, expressed 
in any one of many different forms, would 
help attest the fidelity of our friendship 
and the sincerity of our tears. 

If one's pathway could be strewn with 
an occasional flower, it would not matter 
much if there were not so many for the 
funeral. 

To live continually pricked with thorns 
and briers, and then lie in a costly casket 
covered with a wealth of flowers, is a 
travesty on life and love. 
48 



FLOWERS AND FUNERALS 

Flowers and tears at death can not 
atone for ill-treatment and neglect in life. 
The love of children for mother is not 
measured by the flowers they bring to her 
funeral, nor the tears they shed at her 
grave. 

Good words said to the living were 
better than the most flowery eulogy spoken 
over the dead. The fragrance of true love, 
and the perfume of genuine friendship, will 
inspire the faltering and the faint-hearted, 
spur them on to noble endeavor, and will 
linger long about the lives that are so 
hungry for sympathy and for help. But 
they want it now. The heart's cry in the 
following lines tells the story: 

If I should die to-night, 
My friends would look upon my quiet face 
Before they laid it in its resting-place 
And deem that death had left it almost fair, 
And, laying snow-white flowers upon my hair, 
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness. 
And fold my hands with lingering caress — 
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night! 

If I should die to-night. 
My friends would call to mind with loving 

thought 
Some kindly deed the icy hand had wrought, 
4 49 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

Some gentle word the frozen lips had said, 
Errands on which the wiUing feet had sped; 
The memory of my selfishness and pride, 
My hasty words, would all be put aside, 
And so I should be loved and mourned 
to-night. 

If I should die to-night, 
E'en hearts estranged would turn once more 

to me, 
Recalling other days remorsefully 
The eyes that chill me with averted glance 
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, 
And soften in the old, familiar way; 
For who would war with dumb, unconscious 
clay? 
So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night. 

O friends, I pray to-night. 
Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow. 
The way is lonely; let me feel them now. 
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn, 
My faltering feet are pierced with many a 

thorn. 
Forgive, O hearts estranged, forgive, I plead! 
When ceaseless bliss is mine I shall not need 
The tenderness for which I plead to-night. 
— Belle E. Smith. 



50 



The Baby's Smile 

I REM EMBER so clearly when our first 
baby came to us. Just a wee bit of 
flesh — and so helpless. It did not seem to 
know anybody. It would not even look 
at us. That was truly a wonderful hour. 
I know how sweet the mother looked. I 
know how proud the father felt. But the 
baby did not seem to care. So well do I 
remember how I looked and longed to see 
a smile upon that little face, and to have 
those eyes look into mine. I someway 
fancied the smile would put us on more 
familiar terms. It would show some of the 
elements of gladness and gratitude. It 
would be the baby's way of saying, "I 
am all right, am glad I'm here; I like the 
looks of you, and I mean to make you 
proud." But there was no smile. There 
was no look of recognition from those dim 
eyes. I coaxed and watched and waited 
through the days. Oh, how my heart 
hungered for that smile ! The first thing in 
the morning would I look to see if it was 
51 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

there. Well nigh a thousand times through 
every day I gently turned the covers down 
to look again. But still no smile. I 
talked to it, cooed to it, coaxed it, played 
my fingers upon its cheeks, and did every- 
thing I could think of to bring the smile; 
but it did not come. The days passed by. 
They multiplied. Oh, would the time never 
come! My anxiety knew no bounds. 

Then one glad day, without warning, 
my waiting was rewarded. It was in the 
morning. Breakfast was just over — for 
baby and all. I touched the plump cheeks 
tenderly with my fingers and spoke with 
cooing, coaxing voice, when those eyes, 
roving everywhere and looking at nothing, 
seemed suddenly to catch my face and 
stop. There was a certain light in them — 
a look I had not seen before — and then the 
sweetest smile broke on that face you ever 
saw. That was Heaven. Ecstasy supreme. 
The babe had given the father a look of 
recognition and a smile of gratitude. Oh, 
what reward! 

I have thought of it a thousand times 

since that glad day, and have said over 

and over again, "What if the look and the 

smile had never come?" That is not a 

52 



THE BABY'S SMILE 

pleasant thing to contemplate, as every 
father will testify. But I have followed 
that question by asking about the Heav- 
enly Father. How long has He been look- 
ing for recognition and watching for smiles 
He has never seen? How many of His 
earthly children turn their faces from Him 
and break the heart of God by base in- 
gratitude? He longs for a look. He longs 
for a smile, and it never comes. With in- 
finite patience He waits and watches. He 
calls, and coos, and coaxes with every 
providential care, with every kiss of ten- 
derness, in every love-language, with every 
last sacrifice of Self — and yet sees no 
response. No look. No smile. Nothing 
to indicate the high relationship of Father 
and child. How must our Father feel when 
treated thus? Every man who is a father 
can answer that. How long has He waited 
now? How long will you keep Him wait- 
ing yet? 

How glad God would be if all the chil- 
dren of men would look up into His face 
this day and smile their gratitude and their 
adoration. As with the babe, that is the 
sign of a normal life. Without it there 
must be deformity, incompleteness some- 
53 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

where in the life. How pathetic the 
blasted or the undeveloped rose-bud! It 
never rises to its highest. Never fulfills 
its divine mission. The patient, expectant 
owner gets no fragrance. How more pa- 
thetic the undeveloped, the blighted, the 
diverted life. Never comes to its highest. 
Never fulfills its mission. Never reaches 
the full bloom and beauty and fragrance 
of its divine possibilities. When life blos- 
soms into right recognition of the Father 
above, and expresses itself in gratitude, 
devotion, obedience, service, will He de- 
light in His children and be glad that His 
lavished love is not lost. 



54 



Father and Child 

WHEN the baby girl was a little over 
two years old, the mother was going 
out in town on a shopping trip one day, 
and left the father in charge of the three 
children. He was particularly cautioned 
not to leave them or let them out of his 
sight. Of course he promised, for that is 
a way fathers have of doing. But no 
sooner was the mother gone than he 
thought of some very important matters 
that called him to the study. He thought 
the children could play about the house 
and in the yard in all safety without his 
presence or attention. So he left them and 
went upstairs to his room. He had not 
been there long when he heard a com- 
motion below. Something had happened 
among the children. Evidently some one 
was hurt, for there was crying. Presently 
he heard the noise of little feet upon the 
stairs, accompanied by the sobbing of a 
baby voice. When he entered his study a 
while before, he locked the door as a pre- 
55 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

caution against any possible emergency. 
So when he heard the door-knob rattUng 
he remained quiet, for he was busy and 
did not care to be disturbed. 

He could hear that voice in sobs. He 
knew the tears were falling. But the door 
refused to open, and he heard next this 
plaintive plea, "Papa, I want in." Still 
he made no response. Then the baby 
cried out of its hurt heart, "Papa, I want 
up on your lap." Whereupon that father 
surrendered. For a lifetime leapt before 
him in a single moment. He saw the baby 
grow to womanhood and go away from 
him and his home. By the magic of time 
he was swept on into the years when he 
would gladly give all the world to have 
the baby with him again, crying to climb 
into his lap, but knowing it could never be. 
His heart was melted. His senses were 
stirred. Quickly he opened the door. He 
lifted the child to his breast, her arms went 
round his neck, and her head fell in con- 
tentment upon his shoulder. He sat down 
and looked with all the longing of love 
upon that tear-stained face until the eyes 
closed and the child slept — all her troubles 
gone. 

56 



FATHER AND CHILD 

Then that father mused, and said: 
"Does our Heavenly Father ever shut us 
out? Is He ever too busy to hear our com- 
plaints? Does our oft-coming bother Him? 
Will He ever refuse admission when we 
come?" No, He never will! He. is always 
ready to receive us when we come, and 
sorry we did not come sooner. It does 
not annoy Him. Whatever troubles have 
touched us, we can go to Him and be sure 
of a welcome to open arms. The door 
stands wide. The Father's kiss awaits us. 
He will smooth out our cares and give us 
rest. The Father will never shut us out. 
He hears the voice of our cry, and will de- 
liver us, 

I know what mother's face is like, 

Although I can not see; 
It 's like the music of a bell, 
It 's like the way the roses smell — 
It 's like the secrets fairies tell — 

All these it 's like to me. 

I know what father's face is like, 

I 'm sure I know it all; 
It 's like his step upon the stair, 
It's Hke his whistle on the air, 
It 's like his arms that take such care, 

And never let me fall. 

57 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

So I can tell what God is like, 

The God whom no one sees. 
He's everything my mother means, 
He 's everything my father seems. 
He's like my very sweetest dreams. 

But greater than all these. 

— Emily Sargent Lewis. 



58 



Law and Love 

f AW is our best friend. Instead of speak- 
L-i ing of law and love as though they 
were two different things, it were better 
to say that law is love. As civilization has 
advanced, love has expressed itself in law 
for the protection of the weak and defense- 
less. Hence it is at once the measure of 
our moral standards and the index of our 
civilization. The same law that forbids 
you to kill, pledges the life and wealth of 
the nation for your own protection. We 
need not fear it, nor stand in awe of it. 

Law is not so much for us to keep as 
it is to keep us. When we trample on law 
we trample on love. We trample on our- 
selves. It is not the law that is so sacred, 
but the love, of which it is the expression. 
Law is the highest expression of love. The 
law of the family is the love of the parents 
for the children. Without love there could 
be no law, for there would be no concern. 
The law of the universe is the love of God. 
It shows His care even for the sparrow. 
59 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

So the law of the moral world is God's 
love for men. All His laws are operating 
only for their good. 

Every act of God is most beneficent. 
He never takes away a seeming pleasure 
that He does not provide a real one to fill 
its place. He never closes a door and for- 
bids your entrance that He does not open 
a wider one to richer fields. He turns men 
from the dungeon only that they may live 
in a palace; out of a hovel to live in 
Heaven. He denies men the muck and 
mire and the foul filth of unkept streets 
that they may walk on streets well paved 
with gold, and inhabit palaces and inherit 
thrones. God the Father would stop your 
dirge only to set you singing a psean of 
victory. He would make your sighing 
cease that you might shout forth the ex- 
ultant strains of a sweeter music. He 
would stop the flow of your falling tears to 
make you glad with untroubled laughter. 
Yea, He breaks those clouds away and 
sweeps them back and hangs His rainbow 
in the sky to give you promise and hope 
and vision of the day undimmed with 
trouble and ever radiant with eternal sun- 
light. 

60 



LAW AND LOVE 

The poet has aptly said: 

Who liveth best? Not he whose sail, 
Swept on by favoring tide and gale, 

Swift wins the haven fair; 
But he whose spirit strong doth still 
A victory wrest from every ill, 

Whose faith sublime 
On every cloud a rainbow paints — 

'T is he redeems the time. 

From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
Soul," by Mudge, p. 180. 



61 



The World God Makes and 
the World Men Make 

God builds a world of beauty. Men touch it and 

it is tarnished. 
God builds a world of purity. Men touch it and 

it is defiled. 
What God touches He glorifies. What man touches 

he degrades. 

I ONCE knew a fair young girl. She was 
cultured and capable. She was blithe 
and gay. Her form was perfect — a fit 
model for the sculptor's skill. Her features 
were fair as the lily and her cheeks like the 
blushing rose. Her eyes were bright as 
polished jewels, and sparkled like the dew- 
drops of the morning. Her voice was 
rhythmic and musical, and her laughter 
like the rippling waters. She was as pure 
as fragrance from a flower garden. High- 
minded, handsome, cultured, ambitious, 
noble, and good, she was fit to be the 
queen of any home, or to reign supreme 
upon the throne of any man's affections 
and make of him the noblest, happiest, 
manliest man, the proudest of all his kind. 
The music of her gentle voice, like sweet 
62 



THE WORLD GOD MAKES 

echoes wafted from another shore, would 
charm and strengthen and drive away the 
cruel cares that chase him. The magic of 
her presence would transform his burdens 
into belssings and sweeten the bitterest 
cup that ever pressed his lips. 

Her origin was divine. Everywhere 
were the finger-marks of God, and about 
her the fragrant breath of heaven. She 
was born to a high and holy purpose. 
But alas! What a change! What a fall! 
That which had come from the hand of 
God as perfect as an angel form, and as 
pure as a baby's dream, the hand of man 
had touched and spoiled. When I saw 
her the other day for the first time in a 
number of years, it was hke the apparition 
of a ghost. So pale, and poor, and hag- 
gard. So bent, and broken, and shriveled. 
No music in her voice, no sparkle in her 
eye, no luster in her hollow cheeks. No 
life, no ambition, no hope. Her voice was 
like the fading echoes of hopeless creatures 
lingering between despair and death. She 
was like the fragrant flowers drooping and 
dying under the biting of the fiercest frosts. 
Like the blooming beauties scorched and 
withered by the awful blasts from the hot 
63 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

furnaces of hell. You ask the cause? Ah, 
the one God had made to bless and beau- 
tify this world and the next had fallen into 
the hands of man. She had done as count- 
less others have done — married a demon 
in disguise, and the change followed. It 
was as if the monster had taken the fairest 
flower that blooms and blessed men with 
its beauty and fragrance and thrust it into 
the flames of the fiery furnace. As if he had 
with his polluted hands reached out into 
the sky and rudely grasped the fairest 
angel there and dragged it in the slimy 
sewer of a filthy city. The music of her 
voice was stilled. The beauty of her face 
and form was gone. The fragrance of her 
life was gone. Hope was dead. 

And that is the way man is marring the 
world God would make beautiful. All the 
scars and blemishes, all the wrecks and 
ruins, all the agonies and heartaches, all 
the faded beauty and withered hope, and 
all the sighs and tears are man-made. 
"God saw everything that He had made, 
and behold it was very good." "And God 
looked upon the earth, and behold it was 
corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted His 
way upon the earth." 
64 



Opportunity 

ONE of the greatest fallacies ever 
couched in classic language is the 
little poem by John J. Ingalls on "Oppor- 
tunity:" 

Master of human destinies am I, 

Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait, 
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 

Deserts and seas remote, and passing by 
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late 
I knock, unbidden, once at every gate! 

If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise — before 
I turn away. It is the hour of fate. 
And they who follow me reach every state 

Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 

Save death; but those who doubt, or hesitate, 

Condemned to failure, penury, and woe, 

Seek me in vain and uselessly implore; 

I answer not, and I return no more. 

That is fatalism complete. That hangs 
leaden weights upon the wings of ambition, 
and strangles hope to death. 

Only one chance ! Then who would not 
fail.? Opportunity going about knocking 
^ 65 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

at each man's gate, and only once, at that? 
Never ! 

This poem, while majestic in form and 
beautiful in expression, furnishes no com- 
fort for the weak, no encouragement for 
him who has failed, and gives no inspira- 
tion for noble endeavor. It has about it 
the mystic atmosphere of despair. It is 
not wholesome. 

Is not the following much better? 
wherein "Opportunity" says: 

Man is my master. I on his footsteps wait. 
Fame, love, and fortune will I give 
To all who knock and enter at my gate. 
To your door I come not, but you to mine; 
And should you come and fail to find me in. 
Return again — yea, do not turn away 
Though I be slow and sluggish to respond; 
Or if the door swings not on easy hinges at your 

touch, 
Lift up your hand and knock until you break it 

down — 
Then enter, and reach every state mortals desire. 
My door is barred — sometimes with granite rocks, 
Sometimes with mountain range or desert sands, 
Or with wide-rolling seas. But you 
Can reign if you beat through the gate. 
It is the hour of hope. I wait — 
From hovel, field, or palace you may come, 
A conqueror, and obtain the crown I hold 
For every one who dares to persevere. 
66 



OPPORTUNITY 

The following lines from the pen of 
Walter Malone have in them the gospel of 
good cheer and of high hope, and ought to 
cause any man with drooping spirit to lift 
his head and leap toward the sky. Every 
man should thank his Maker for another 
chance — and a chance, too, that has the 
love and the look of the Father in it. Not 
merely a chance to struggle on blindly, 
alone and without help, but with the com- 
panionship of One who knows the way and 
understands the motive of human hearts. 

They do me wrong who say I come no more 
When first I knock and fail to find you in; 

For every day I stand outside your door 

And bid you wake and rise, to fight and win. 

Wail not for precious chances passed away, 
Weep not for golden ages on the wane! 

Each night I burn the records of the day; 
At sunrise every soul is born again. 

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, 
To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; 

My judgments seal the dead past with its dead. 
But never bind a moment yet to come. 

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and 
weep ; 

I lend my arm to all who say, "I can!" 
No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep 

But he might rise and be again a man. 

67 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? 

Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? 
Then turn from blotted archives of the past 

And find the future's pages white as snow. 

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell! 

Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven. 
E^ch morning gives thee wings to flee from hell, 

Each night a star to guide thy soul to heaven. 



68 



Heresy and Love 

MEN are prone to inquire about what 
is right and what is wrong. 

You can not catalogue those matters. 

Love is always right. 

Hate is always wrong. 

Hate is heresy. It is the worst heresy. 
It is the only heresy. 

Love is the test of orthodoxy. It is 
orthodoxy. It is the fragrance of the 
flower. 

God is love. God is orthodox. What 
God does tells what God is. 

If you want to know about a man's 
orthodoxy, find out about his love. A 
man's love determines the direction of his 
life. 

You can not hate men and love God. 

One who loves can not be shut out of 
God's Kingdom. Nor can one who hates 
be taken in. 

Jesus did not demand of His disciples 
that they all think alike, but that they 
love alike: "By this shall all men know 
69 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

that ye are My disciples, if ye have love 
one to another." 

Love lifts. Hate is a heavy weight. 
One is upward to light. The other down- 
ward to darkness. 

Love liberates. 

Hate imprisons. 

Love enlarges. 

Hate is shriveling. 

Hate is heresy. Love is orthodoxy. 

Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul, 
Love is the only angel that can bid the gate unroll. 
And when He comes to call thee, arise and follow 

fast; 
His way may lead through darkness, but it leads to 

light at last. — Henry Van Dyke. 



70 



Character 

THE Aristocracy of Fine Souls is a 
royal company to which not all people 
belong. "Aunt Susan," as the young 
people all called her, has been a life mem- 
ber of that order. I never liked the name 
Susan until I met her. Since then it has 
been a name of beauty. Some people seem 
to give luster to the most somber hues. 
Some folks look dressed up in almost any 
sort of garments, while others never do 
look dressed up, no matter what they 
wear. Almost any name is sweet when 
borne by a fine character. 

I have known the one above mentioned 
for more than thirty years. She has reared 
a large family of noble children, four of 
whom have passed on into that country 
that lies beyond the unseen sea. The 
husband, too, both great and good, has 
been gone now for many years. And while 
the shadows have lengthened, she has been 
walking the long way alone. Yet not 
alone, for the Unseen Friend has walked 
71 



THE UPPER TRAIL- 

beside her all the way, and her face is 
illumined by the inner light. She is a 
radiant soul. 

Always has this good woman been one 
of the earth's real toilers, but always she 
has had time to be helpful and kind. It 
has seemed impossible for her to do too 
much for others. Forgetting her own 
hard tasks, her own cares, her own sor- 
rows and bereavements, her own heavy 
afiflictions, she has busied herself trying to 
relieve other souls, encouraging them and 
helping bear their burdens. Always does 
she think of others, scarcely of herself at 
all. Infinite in patience, incessant in toil, 
rich in kindly ministries. She is never 
captious or critical. She puts the best 
construction upon word and deed. She is 
most ready to excuse an error and to 
spread the mantle of charity over a fault 
in some one else. She heartens every one. 
Whether appreciated or not, it has made 
no difference with her. She is a lofty soul. 

While the sorrows of her own life have 
been many, she has borne them all with 
sweet and uncomplaining silence, seeming 
to forget them in the attention she gives 
to those about her, and in her devotion 
72 



CHARACTER 

to the life she has spent in such unselfish 
service. A pure mind. A great soul. A 
life like a radiant sunbeam, and one that 
helps every other life it touches. 

This good woman has gone past her 
threescore years and ten. Her long race 
is nearly run. Just a few more setting suns 
and it will be daybreak. But she has 
never been a bright star in society. She 
has made so little noise the big world has 
scarcely been aware of her presence at all. 
She has not been much in the public eye. 
Not even prominent in women's clubs. 
She will probably not appear in the "Hall 
of Fame," though she has been an ideal 
mother and as fine a friend as mortal ever 
had, and on the inner wall of many a life 
will hang the picture of her fair face and 
the image of her great soul. And, after all, 
the "Hall of Fame" is but a little play- 
house for children, and is petty and insig- 
nificant compared to the great world of 
human hearts where "Aunt Susan" shall 
be honored and shall live forever. 

What an army of young people she has 

helped and inspired ! Many of the "boys, " 

when grown to be gray-haired men, will 

remember with tearful gladness the times 

73 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

of old when she would call them from their 
bachelor quarters and poor fare while they 
were struggling for an education, to those 
sumptuous Sunday dinners prepared by 
her kind hands. And how those invita- 
tions would come about as often as Sunday 
itself! No use to say, "No" to her. She 
had planned it that way, and none must 
be left out. And after dinner the boys 
would talk it over and agree that it was 
an imposition on good nature, and that 
they would not go any more. But the 
next Sunday — there would be the dinner, 
and there would be "Aunt Susan," and 
there would be the boys. She could not 
escape the promptings of her own big soul, 
and they could not escape the magic of 
her ministries. 

With her it was everything for others, 
but nothing for self. No praise. No po- 
sition. No pay. No reward. The doing 
of the good was her compensation. She is 
not rich, except in faith, and hope, and 
character. In all these she is many times 
a millionaire. 

That is my idea of character. What 
people actually are. What they are when 
stripped of the flesh. What they are in- 
74 



CHARACTER 

side. What they are when no one is watch- 
ing. What they are in the dark. What 
they are when only the eye of God is upon 
them. What they are when there is no 
pay coming. What they are when there 
is no applause. What they are when there 
is no public account, and no "Hall of 
Fame." What they are when there is 
work to do, and when sacrifice is called for. 
What they are when love is the only 
motive, and perhaps ingratitude the sole 
reward. Then character shines with un- 
dimmed luster, for then is true character 
revealed. Such is "Aunt Susan." 

Character is as rich in rags as in royal 
robes; it forges its own crown, and every 
day is a coronation day. 

Though thy name be spread abroad, 

Like winged seed, from shore to shore, 
What thou art before thy God, 
That thou art, and nothing more. 
From "Poems With Power to Strengthen the 
Soul," by Mudge, p. 40. 



75 



Mother 

God thought to give the sweetest thing 

In His Almighty power 
To earth; and deeply pondering 

What it should be — one hour 
In fondest joy and love of heart, 

Outweighing every other, 
He moved the gates of Heaven apart 

And gave to earth — a mother! 

— G. Newell Lovejoy. 

A YOUNG man of nineteen years was 
leaving his Kansas home some years 
ago to engage in the battle of life on his 
own responsibility. He has said good-bye 
to the old mother, whose blessing, like 
sweet ointment, fell upon his head in 
these two simple words, "Be good." His 
wardrobe, library, and all his earthly pos- 
sessions were packed in the old yellow 
grip-sack, which he carried on a stick 
swung across his shoulder as he walked the 
distance of twelve miles to the nearest 
railway station, where he was to take the 
train for his destination in Nebraska. 
As he reached the summit of the hill a 
76 



MOTHER 

heilf-mile from the old sod-house and home 
he was leaving, he turned for a last look 
at the place. His eager eyes were aston- 
ished to see the mother at one corner of 
the house, watching her departing boy as 
he was about to disappear from her sight 
out into the big, uncertain world. It 
seemed to him she was holding the corner 
of the old, faded calico apron to her face. 
For what purpose? Ah, could it be she 
was crying for her boy? She did not cry 
when she said good-bye. No, she was too 
brave then. But she is surely doing so 
now. She was so strong in his presence 
to encourage him, but when he was once 
started the floods broke loose. And when 
he passed from sight of her beyond the 
hill she was still standing thus. 

New thoughts were wakened in his 
mind. New and nobler ambitions were 
born in him. The very sight of that 
mother watching her boy, and weeping 
for him, gave him the assurance that she 
was pushing him to higher levels with her 
prayers to God. He would not fail. He 
could not fail. He would never freeze those 
tears, nor cause to fail those prayers, nor 
disappoint that anxious heart by any low 
77 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

aim or unworthy act of his. He would 
never fall, with the memory of that mother 
holding him up in tears and prayers. He 
would work. He would dig. He would 
climb. He would succeed, and be worthy, 
knowing well that those eyes, though un- 
seen, were upon him all the time. Her faith 
and her love should be rewarded. 

Before that time the boy had not 
really appreciated his mother. Like a 
great many other boys, he was thoughtless 
and careless. But now he was thoroughly 
awakened to a new life, and to a sense of 
his great loss. That sweet, humble, faith- 
ful, hard-working, loving, patient mother 
had been giving her very life for him. 
He did not think of it before, and now he 
was leaving it all, never to live in the 
very presence of a mother's holy influence 
again. Those days and that sweet priv- 
ilege were gone forever. As the full mean- 
ing and realization of it all dawned upon 
him, he was overwhelmed. 

Boys who are rich in the love and care 
of a good mother should appreciate her 
while she lives, and while they live with 
her, and should make her life both rich 
and glad in the thought that she has a boy 
78 



MOTHER 

living a noble and useful life and loving 
her too much to be less than she expects 
him to be. 

FOR HIS MOTHER'S SAKE 

The florist's boy had just swept some broken 
and withered flowers into the gutter when a ragged 
"rchin darted across the street. He came upon a 
rose seemingly in better condition than the rest. 
But as he tenderly picked it up the petals fluttered 
to the ground, leaving only the bare stalk in his 
hand. 

He stood quite still, and his lips quivered per- 
ceptibly. "What's the matter with you, anyway?" 
the florist's boy asked. 

The ragged little fellow choked as he answered, 
"It's for my mother. She's sick, and she can't eat 
nothin', an' I thought if she'd a flower to smell, it 
might make her feel better." 

"Just you wait a minute," said the florist's boy 
as he disappeared. When he came out upon the 
sidewalk he held in his hand a beautiful half-opened 
rose. "There," he said, "take that to your mother." 

He had meant to put that rosebud on his own 
mother's grave, and yet he knew that he had done 
the better thing. "She'll understand," he said to 
himself, "and I know this will please her most." 

— Selected. 



79 



The Model Young Man 

Keep pure thy soul! 

Then shalt thou take the whole 

Of delight; 

Then without a pang 
Thine shall be all of beauty whereof 

The poet sang — 
The perfume and the pageant, the 

Melody, the mirth, 
Of the golden day and the starry night; 

Of heaven and of earth. 
Oh, keep pure thy soul! 

— Richard W. Gilder. 

THE model young man ! Have you seen 
him? Does he Hve near you? Per- 
haps you do not know him? Now, I can 
tell the way you smile that you have never 
so much as seen him, and you think he is 
not. But he is. Of course you will be 
very glad to know it, and to form his 
acquaintance. 

Remember, it is not the perfect young 

man, nor the faultless young man, but a 

human young man full of hot red blood, 

full of life, full of vigor and virility, full 

80 



THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 

of ambition and hope, and beset by all the 
trials and temptations that are common 
to humanity. And withal, a young man 
who thinks more of polishing his brains 
than he does his shoes, and who is more 
careful to keep his soul unstained than 
he is to keep his clothing clean and his 
trousers creased. 

You say there are no model young 
men? If that be true, then we have a 
vast and unexplored region for some dar- 
ing and courageous life to enter. And it 
is a rich field, and a task that challenges 
the mightiest efforts of towering manhood, 
and is more worthy of attainment than to 
reach either the North Pole or the South 
in our little material world, or to carry off 
the honors at a Marathon meet. If there 
be none, then there yet remain other worlds 
to conquer and higher heights to climb, and 
the call would be for the young man big 
enough, and good enough, and great 
enough, and courageous enough to occupy 
a field of wealth and power where he 
would be the pioneer and hold undisputed 
sway. 

The model young man is clean. Now, 
is that too much to expect or require? 
6 81 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

Surely it is not. Who will dare say it is? 
Who will thus confess himself a weakling, 
or charge all others with being? Clean, to 
be sure! Clean of body. Clean of mind. 
Clean of soul. No physical habits that are 
degrading. Harboring no thoughts that 
are impure. A soul that stretches itself 
up toward the light and truth of God. No 
street loafer. No profanity. No vulgarity. 
No obscenity. No carousing. No coarse 
remarks when ladies pass upon the street, 
and no low talk involving womankind. 
Pure thinking, wholesome speaking, health- 
ful exercise of body, and high aspiration of 
soul. There is no excuse for an impure 
young man, and he should be considered 
an incubus on society, a dangerous germ, 
subject to quarantine, or to be banished 
from clean folk even as the loathsome 
lepers are sent away. The passport of 
any young man into good society should 
be purity, rather than money, education, 
family name, or all other accomplishments. 
And the impure should be shunned as 
one spreading the infection of a deadly 
malady. 

The model young man is brotherly. 
That spells kindness, helpfulness, unselfish- 
82 



THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 

ness, sympathy, thought for others, in- 
terest in others. Are these weak or un- 
manly traits? Unworthy, are they? Im- 
possible, do you think? These are the right 
qualities for manhood. They make men 
big and strong. The young man with a 
warm heart, a brotherly grip, a tender and 
gracious spirit, a generous soul, and a 
beaming face is closely related to the 
Infinite. The breath of immortality is 
upon him. He is mighty in power. 

Both swords and guns are strong, no doubt, 

And so are tongue and pen, 
And so are sheaves of good bank notes. 

To sway the souls of men. 
But guns and swords and piles of gold, 

Though mighty in their sphere. 
Are sometimes feebler than a smile. 

And poorer than a tear. — Mackey. 

The model young man is honest. 
Would that be a curiosity in this day? Is 
that too high a quality? Not so. There 
are lots of honest people in the world, let 
it be known, and one of the surest ways of 
making yoimg men dishonest is to teach 
them that honesty is a scarce commodity. 
Nevertheless, honesty should be empha- 
sized to-day perhaps as never before, 
SS 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

simply because there has been so much 
dishonesty in high places. The law, "Thou 
shalt not steal," should be better under- 
stood and more generally applied. There 
are many ways to steal other than taking 
a man's property. This law inflicts its 
own penalty, just as the law of gravitation 
is self-enforcing. The young man who 
steals, that is, the one who is not honest — ■ 
honest intellectually, honest morally, honest 
physically — will fall, will go down by the 
action of the higher moral law of gravita- 
tion working in him just as surely as the 
weight loosed from the hand will fall to 
the earth by the action of the same law 
in the material. Honesty is not merely 
the "best policy," it is the only policy, for 
it alone leads upward. 

The model young man is truthful. Do 
you think that is too much to expect of 
him, or too hard a task for him to perform? 
Too high for him to reach, is it? Who will 
declare that it is ? Surely none. But 
there are a lot of liars these swift days. 
A lot of young men liars. A lot of high 
school liars, and college liars. Liars nega- 
tive and liars positive. Some lie with the 
lips, some with their eyes, some with a nod 
84 



THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 

of the head; some with a wink, and some 
with silence. Some He to their fathers and 
mothers, some to their sweethearts, some 
to their professors, and some to their em- 
ployers. All these lie to God. And they 
seem not to know that a falsehood is a 
blemish on the life that prevents success, 
and a leaden weight upon the wings that 
holds one from rising to the heights. 

The model young man is respectful to 
parents. Again I ask, is that too much? 
And again, will any affirm that it is? 
None! He respects their judgment. He 
respects their advice. He respects their 
age. He respects their authority. He 
respects their feelings. He respects them 
too much ever to call his father "the old 
man" or to break his mother's heart with 
unkind words. If he does not, then he 
can not respect himself, and no one else 
will respect him. If a boy does not learn 
to obey in the home, then the school will 
have a hard time with him, and the State 
will have a hard time with him. That boy 
will have a hard time with himself. For 
obedience is the first law, and must be 
learned sooner or later if the individual 
would hold his liberty. The place to learn 
85 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

it is in the home, and the boy who does 
not have respect for the authority of his 
parents is likely to have little for any 
authority. No young man can lay claim 
to the high heritage of real manhood who 
does not properly respect and lovingly 
treat his parents. 

The model young man is industrious. 
Now what do you say? Does that require- 
ment exact too much? Is the standard 
placed too high? Of course you say it is 
not. The New Yoi^k Evening Post asked a 
number of eminent men why so many 
young men were failures. The majority of 
the answers attribute the failures to "lazi- 
ness and indolence." Chauncey M. Depew, 
in speaking about the failure of so many 
young men he grew up with, said oine- 
tenths of them owed their failure to drink. 
That is either the fruit of indolence or the 
cause of it. The question was asked about 
a leading commercial man of a certain 
large city, "What is there about him to 
explain his success?" The answer was, 
"Luck." But the facts were that thirty 
years before he was working by the day 
as an ordinary laborer. At the close of 
each day he had his program of studies 
86 



THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 

which he industriously pursued. In due 
time his strict attention to business, and 
his marked attainments, attracted the at- 
tention of his employers, and a partner- 
ship ensued, and ultimately the head of 
the business. "Luck?" "Genius?" Well, 
you will notice as you jog along that 
"luck" and "genius" and hard work are 
always very closely associated, and that 
the one who never cultivates the acquaint- 
ance of hard work is almost never a 
"genius," and scarcely ever meets up with 
"luck." Some one has said, "The trouble 
with young men to-day is, they want 
pleasure and amusement." No, that is 
not the trouble. The real trouble is, that 
so many of them want nothing else. Too 
many of them are looking for higher wages 
and an easier job, while too many others 
are looking for no job at all. They do not 
want work. They depend upon their 
fathers even for spending money. No 
self-respecting young man will spend money 
thus that he does not earn himself. And 
it is well-nigh a crime for fathers to raise 
young men to idleness and indolence and 
allow them to form the bad habit of spend- 
ing money not earned by themselves, 
87 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

but furnished by foolish and indulgent 
parents. 

The model young man is choice of his 
company. He will not associate with any 
young lady that is not as good as he is. 
He will not reflect upon his mother by 
selecting a girl that is not at least her 
equal. Nor will he resort with bad men. 
He will keep no questionable company of 
any kind. He knows full well that a pol- 
luted atmosphere will taint the life, and 
that men have no more right to be unclean 
and then offer themselves to pure women 
than women have to become foul with evil 
habits and then expect good men to accept 
them as their wives and the mothers of 
their children. The model young man is 
very choice of his company — because he 
is choice of himself and his mother. The 
following words of a mother to her son 
are worth remembering: 

Do you know that your soul is of my soul such a 

part 
That you seem to fiber and core of my heart? 
None other can pain me as you, dear, can do; 
None other can please me or praise me as you. 
Remember the world will be quick with its blame, 
If shadow or stain ever darken your name, 

88 



THE MODEL YOUNG MAN 

"Like mother, like son" is a saying so true, 
The world will judge largely of "Mother" by you. 
Be yours, then, the task, if task it shall be, 
To force the proud world to do homage to me. 
Be sure it will say, when its verdict you've won, 
"She reaped as she sowed, Lo! this is her son." 

— Selected. 



89 



The Ideal Young Woman 

BOTH tears and laughter are ordained 
by the Infinite. They are the outlet 
of the soul for grief or gladness. You find 
these everywhere. The sea sobs out its 
grief; it sighs, and moans, and heaves with 
heavy-heartedness. The rills and the 
rivers laugh with gladness. The trees clap 
their hands for joy. The moon is a benign 
smile, while the sun is a great burst of 
laughter. So all nature is in closest sym- 
pathy with mankind in joy and sorrow. 
The mighty earthquake may be but one 
of the earth's convulsive sobs, pent up for 
ages. 

Laughter and tears are but the flood- 
gates for the overflow of our emotions, to 
save us from breaking by an overstrain 
either of sadness or gladness. Thus God 
has made ample provision for our lives, 
and wants us to live in a perfectly natural 
way in harmony with ourselves and with 
Him. Neither one extreme nor the other. 

In speaking of the ideal young woman, 
90 



THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 

it will be well to hold in mind the picture 
of a real live person, and not some imag- 
inary being that has no place in God's 
order of things, and is unapproachable; a 
fanciful creature that has never existed 
and never can exist, except in some one's 
wildest dream. We are talking about an 
everyday, commonplace girl, who lives her 
own life according to her own high nature 
and the laws of her God. 

Shall we dress her up just "so," and 
make her walk just "so," and sit, and 
talk, and act according to certain specified 
rules of the so-called authorities? No! 
For that would not be natural. And the 
natural is the ideal. God made the natural. 
That's why it is ideal. It can not be im- 
proved. It is higher than any art. 

Now, what is meant by "natural?" 
Well, the canary sings; the eagle soars; 
the fruit-trees bear apples, pears, or 
peaches; the flower-plants give daffodils, 
or crocuses, or pansies; the rose bush 
gives bud, and blossom, and fragrance; the 
roots pump up the moisture, while the 
leaves transform the sunbeams and the air. 
That is, each in the animal or vegetable 
world does that which it was ordained to 
91 



THE UPPER TRAIL 

do, and thus lives in perfect harmony with 
its own nature. That is natural. That 
is divine. Only the divine is natural. 
Only the natural is the ideal. 

So, in thinking of the ideal young 
woman, hold in mind the one who lives in 
harmony with herself, for that alone is 
natural, and hence ideal. Of course all 
will agree that the color of eyes and hair, 
the beauty of face and perfection of form, 
and the elegance of etiquette, however 
important in themselves, are not the essen- 
tial parts of the ideal woman. 

The ideal young woman is not a con- 
spicuous figure upon the street. She is not 
loud and boisterous. She is not seen gad- 
ding about by night nor by day. She is 
not on the marriage market to be taken by 
the highest bidder, nor on the bargain 
counter to be carried away by the first 
caller. She is not intoxicated by the cup 
of worldly pleasure. The glare and glitter 
and whirl of a worldly life do not satisfy 
her. She thinks too highly of her powers 
to put them to any inferior tasks or low 
uses. Her intellectual respect will not 
permit her to blow herself away in the 
froth of society. She will in no manner 
92 



THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 

belittle herself or allow her nature to be 
perverted. 

She is not easily flattered. And that 
is no ordinary attainment, either. The 
flatteries of men are a very potent influence 
over the lives of so many women. Flattery 
is the common bait that is used to entice 
them into the invisible net. It is like the 
spider's web to the unthinking fly. Happy 
the woman that detects it, and is great 
enough to frown upon it, and flee from it. 
The silly, small talk of men will not de- 
ceive the woman that is alert and wise. 
She will keep free from the slimy coils of 
such serpents. 

Speaking now affirmatively, the ideal 
young woman is watchful of her brother. 
Do you recall that little story of the child 
Moses and his sister Miriam? How that 
sister, with all watchful solicitude, stood by 
and kept her faithful vigil while the babe 
lay hidden in the ark of bulrushes, and, 
when he was discovered by Pharaoh's 
daughter, she was on hand to take the 
child in safety to its own anxious mother! 
If only more girls were thus watchful of 
their own brothers and solicitous for their 
well-being, to save them from snares and 
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THE UPPER TRAIL 

pitfalls and the dangers that lurk about 
them, and to lead them where a mother's 
care can bless them and her influence 
nourish them, fewer young men would be 
lost and the "boy problem" would not be 
half so serious. It is not as it should be 
when a young lady is more interested in 
some other girl's brother than she is in 
her own. 

The ideal young woman is considerate 
of her mother. Of course some girls are 
not. Some mothers, too, are silly about 
their daughters. But the right sort of a 
girl will not be spoiled, even by her mother. 
She will not be content to pound the piano 
all day and gad about all the evening while 
her mother wears herself out in the drudg- 
ery of the home. There is quite as much 
culture in washing dishes, and cooking a 
good meal, and tidying up the house as 
there is in running the fingers up and down 
the keyboard of a Steinway or torturing 
people with the wonderful variations of a 
high-pitched, squeaky voice, especially 
when in doing the former you can give a 
patient and long-sufifering mother a chance 
to take a much-needed rest. The young 
woman who shows high consideration and 
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THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 

great tenderness for her mother is exhibit- 
ing a quality of refinement worthy the 
ambition of all to possess. Mother first 
and self afterwards. Such a one belongs to 
the real aristocracy. 

The ideal young woman is independent. 
She fits herself for a useful life instead of 
continually posing for a marriage proffer. 
She is one who appreciates her powers and 
influence. No one has more power to-day 
than woman, if she will only use it in the 
proper way. This young woman will never 
tolerate a young man that is not her equal 
socially, mentally, and morally. She will 
not marry a man to reform him. It is a 
precarious business when any young woman 
turns herself into a reformatory and under- 
takes the hazardous task of reclaiming a 
young man by the marriage process. If 
she is unable to reform him before mar- 
riage;' she can not do so afterwards. I 
do not know of any young men that marry 
girls to reform them. And besides, no 
woman can associate with or marry a man 
beneath her and hope to lift him up to her 
level — she will descend to his. 

At a temperance meeting one evening, 
where were present a great many mothers 
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THE UPPER TRAIL 

and daughters, among the questions con- 
sidered was the young man problem. 
"How to save the young men," was their 
cry. Very few young men were there. 
Their absence was freely commented upon 
and lamented. "Where are they, and why 
are they not here?" mothers and daughters 
queried. When the meeting was over, 
their questions were quickly answered. 
The young men were just outside the door, 
waiting for the meeting to break up, and 
they actually escorted these same young 
ladies, daughters of those same mothers, 
to their homes. 

The dove, with its cooing, will not dull 
the vulture's talons nor change its nature. 

The bird, with its singing, will not stop 
the serpent's sting, nor kill the poison. 

The rose, with its fragrance, will not 
quench the furnace fire nor heal its burn. 

Above all, the ideal young woman is 
godly, and is not ashamed of it. She will 
not allow the holy fires that burn in her 
soul to be quenched. She will not sacrifice 
her faith nor surrender her religion for 
any reason whatsoever. A modest, well- 
behaved, sweet-tempered, devoted, high- 
minded, Christian young woman is the 
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THE IDEAL YOUNG WOMAN 

queen of all queens and can reign supreme 
in a world where hearts are the most val- 
uable asset, and where men will pay a 
homage that is divine. She thinks more 
of cultivating a fine disposition than she 
does of cultivating her voice. Her life is 
pure; its atmosphere is wholesome; it is 
laden with the rich aroma of an unselfish 
soul. She is on her way to a kingdom and 
a throne. Indeed, she is there already. 
When she falls from that high estate it 
shocks us. That is where she belongs, and 
we are contented only when she is there. 
Nothing less seems right. She is then in 
harmony with her own nature, and in 
tune with the Infinite. That is natural. 
That is ideal. 

Fairer than the fairest flowers that bloom, 
Richer than the rose's sweet perfume; 
Life as stainless as the stars above, 
Soul that stretches upward — soul of love; 
Woman — the finest work of God. 



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OCT 11 1913 



